


Red Jennies

by extraction_iv



Series: The Many Mundane Adventures of Inquisitor Nolan Lavellan [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Disability, Friendship, Healing, M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-19 23:01:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4764239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extraction_iv/pseuds/extraction_iv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This will just be post-Trespasser drabbles. Spoilers for Trespasser and it's ending!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Nolan Lavellan stood just where he had when Dorian's caravan began to leave, still waving absent-mindedly towards the distance as though the Magister could see him. His lips still tingled from the long, heart-wrenching kiss that they have shared and he could still smell Dorian on his clothes. He thought of using the sending crystal already: of begging Dorian to come back, to wait just a moment longer, but the Inquisitor knew most of all that there was work to be done. Dorian would be just where Thedas needed him to be: in Tevinter, working his gift of gab to change things for the better. And while the fact of his leaving still broke Nolan's heart, Dorian had summarized it best: "There will always be an us. We'll just be... farther apart, for a time." Nolan repeated those words as though they would get him through, only dropping his hand once he realized that the caravan carrying his love had completely disappeared from sight. Then, he allowed himself a moment of panic. Without his vhenan, what came next? 

He entertained the thought that he could simply retire as a Comte and live in Kirkwall, aside Varric and Hawke and their friends. He had a house there, apparently, and could easily retire in luxury. Kirkwall was in the Free Marches, still, and Nolan knew the Free Marches. He could be close to Tevinter, he could be closer to Dorian, could be only a few day's trip away from the sanctity of his lover's embrace. The whole thing tasted wrong in his mouth. It seemed like the sort of thing he would lovingly chastise Vivienne for. Anything to stay relevant, any title to get further in the game. After the mess that he had been forced to endure at the hands of nobles for so long, Nolan was not certain that he was ready to include himself in their lineup. And though his title as Inquisitor remained and the people that he had come across still referred to him as such, the Inquisition would serve Leliana. His leadership was no longer needed. Grabbing for another title seemed redundant, and living in luxury seemed just as wrong as a veteran of war as it did when he was living as Dalish. 

And what could he do, even if he was still needed? Nolan turned his head to look down at the mark - something he had always done in an attempt to ground and comfort himself - and was faced with the stark reminder that he was no longer whole. A sob bubbled up in the back of his throat and threatened to spill forth. And if he'd had any intentions of fighting it, they were in vain: Nolan's knees buckled beneath him and he crumbled to the ground and wept. 

There was little privacy at the gates of Skyhold, not particularly for the Inquisitor in such transitive times, but Nolan did not expect to be tackled into the dirt in a moment of weakness. He almost had the frustration built up to be angry about it: as he hit the ground, the still-healing spot slammed against the ground and sent a shock of pain through his arm, and he turned his head to yell until he saw Sera, pouting at him and sitting back on the ground. 

"Do I get an explanation?" He allowed himself a hint of annoyance, even if it was only at the embarrassment of being caught in tears. When Sera grinned at him, he could not help but to smile back. 

"Maybe." The blonde leaned back on her hands, raising an eyebrow at Nolan. "Ready?" 

"Ready?" Nolan raised an eyebrow. He rubbed at his tear stained cheeks and chuckled. "Ready for what?" 

Sera flicked Nolan on the forehead. "Inquisition's servin' Divine Victoria now, ye? No need for big ol' Inquisitor to rule over it anymore." - Nolan knew that his smile must have faltered, because Sera stumbled over her next words, hoping to fix any potential damage - "Not that ya couldn't! No one'd do it better 'an you. They're gonna be right lost without ya." Nolan turned his head back towards the horizon, still hoping that Dorian would turn around and come back as he wrestled with the gaping hole that the past few weeks had left him with. 

"For some reason," He relayed the sentiment as best as he could, "I doubt that." 

Sera shouldered him, playful but rough. "Shove it. They'll still call on ya for shit they can't fix 'emselves. Wait for it. Someone'll come runnin' for you the second you leave." 

Nolan only offered a weak smile in response. 

"Right, so, up we go!" She pulled herself to her feet and reached down to help him up. "Widdle's got somethin' special planned for you. Gotta getcha back on yer feet, quick!" 

"What are we doing, again?" Nolan resigned and took Sera's hand, allowing her to help him to his feet. She held tightly onto his arm, pulling him away from the empty horizon and once again towards the staircase that would lead them up to Skyhold's main hall. As Sera pulled him up the first flight of stairs, he looked out to the market that had once sat bustling next to the stables was practically desolated. Many of the shop keeps had returned to Orlais once the Inquisition's plans to serve the Divine had reached them. Though it felt as though Skyhold's abandonment was a direct reflection of his heart and mind at the moment, Nolan could not blame them. Skyhold had been everything that they needed, when they needed it most. It had outlived it's usefulness. Just like the Inquisitor had. 

To fight back more tears, he had to turn away and focus all of his attention on Sera's face as she talked. "Said it back at the Winter Palace, right?" She chirped, a bounce in her every step. She was not oblivious to his pain, (she cast him a sideways glance every other word and offered a reassuring smile,) but she knew how to distract him well. "It's time for me to help you. Said if there wasn't anywhere for you when you finished, I'd still be here. We'd still be here. An' I meant it." 

They walked into the main hall, and Nolan was overwhelmed by the silence. The chattering and business that had always been Skyhold was dwindling down more and more each day. Josephine, packing for Antiva, had stopped inviting nobles. Nolan was no longer a favored show horse, but the silence was worse than the façades. She jerked his arm just a little bit: enough to grab his attention and smile once more as she opened the doors to the Undercroft. 

Only when the large door slammed behind them did Sera let him go. Nolan attempted to rub at his wrist, (frustrated and scowling when he realized that he could not,) and Sera threw her arms open and skipped down the stairs. "Widdles! Found 'im!" 

Dagna was sitting at one of the workbenches and looked up when she heard Sera's voice. "Sera!" She grinned, waving. "Perfect! I've got the first bit finished, but I just need some measurements. Could you come over here, Inquisitor?" 

"Measurements?" Nolan followed behind Sera, craning his neck in an attempt to see what was going on. "Will someone please fill me in?" 

"Sera let me know about your official Jenny status." Dagna informed, matter-of-fact as ever. "She's got some friends, who have some friends, who have some friends that sent us..." The dwarf shifted through parts and pieces and found a piece of parchment beneath all of the mess. "This!" 

"Official Jenny status?" 

"Just friggin' look at it!" Sera was practically bouncing with excitement. 

Dagna was sure to hold the piece of paper out towards the right hand. Nolan took it and regarded it carefully. It was a schematic: it looked similar to Varric's crossbow Bianca, but without complex handles and with quiet a few straps. Even a slot for a knife or a dagger. Nolan had never been particularly good at reading schematics, (when he made his own weaponry, he tended to create from memories of what the Dalish taught him, or he insisted that Harritt help him,) but this looked like it was obviously supposed to snap into clothing and fit snugly around a stump of an arm. 

For what felt like the thousandth time that day, tears burned the back of Nolan's eyes. "Sera, this is..." He struggled to finished the sentence and had to start again. "When did you...?" Once more, he took a deep breath and tried to start again. Laughter found it's place where words failed him, and again tears streamed down his cheeks. 

"Y'can't be a Jenny without makin' sure you're okay, yeah?" Sera leaned back against the workbench. She watched him carefully, Nolan noted, looking almost like a doting mother in that moment. "Can't pretend to know what you must be feeling. First this whole counsel shit, then the part about thinkin' yer gonna die, then learning that your friend was a real shit, then losin' yer arm, then changin' the whole friggin' Inquisition, and then Dorian leavin' and whatnot." Sera spoke as gently as she could, and Nolan handed the schematic to her before he cried all over it. "'S scary as friggin hell, I'll bet. Scared just thinkin' about it." 

Nolan would have sworn he saw her shudder. 

"And I know!" She tossed the schematic over her shoulder. Dagna reached out to catch it, smacking Sera affectionately on the bottom. Sera returned the gesture with a loud smack on the dwarf's head before returning to the conversation. "I know you got offers to be a fancy nob, or to run around an' keep doing Inquisitor things, but s'not the same when you're not with yer friends. And I'm yer friend. Red Jenny's your friend. You're fun, and you'd have fun as a Jenny. This thing's yours, no matter what, but..." Sera tapped her sides anxiously. "You're not broken. You're different, and missin' some parts, but it's nothin' that changes who you are, right? You're still you, and you is great! And you can still fight, and can still do good. And so maybe... just maybe the big, bad Inquisitor's not ready to give up on 'imself just yet?" 

Dagna peered up at Nolan from around Sera, excitement lighting up her curious eyes. Nolan was not sure when she'd grabbed the measuring tape, but she was already beginning to unravel it. 

Nolan shrugged his shoulders, taking a deep breath. "Call me Red Friggin' Jenny." The words were laughter. Sera broke out into a fit of delighted cackles. Though his home was on the road, and though the path was still unclear and an apocalyptic threat still very real, Inquisitor Nolan Lavellan could finally take a breath that did not quiver with anxiety. No, he was not ready to give up. As long as he still had air in his lungs, he would never give up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was shocked by two things when I went to Tumblr to mourn the end of Inquisition last night. The first was the lack of response to the Inquisitor losing their arm, (seriously, I sobbed about it. Nolan's reaction is tame compared to mine,) and how few people ended up joining the Red Jennies???
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading. And thank you for suffering through Dragon Age: Inquisition with me.


	2. Absences and Fondness, pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This little ficlet will be a two-parter. Thank you for reading!

"… and I knew back then that I absolutely loathed him, but that was for personal reasons, of course. It only figures that he grew up to be yet another corrupt Magister. So you can understand why I felt the need to inform him of his... misgivings. Now, perhaps Maeveris was right, and I was a little rash in my decision to humiliate in front of the entirety of the Magisterium, but-!" 

Dorian knew that he was ranting when the crystal carried his lover's sleepy whisper: "Dorian." 

His own name never sounded so sweet. When the Inquisitor uttered the three syllables, Dorian knew that he was caught. Dorian's heart constricted and he sunk into his chair as the reality of the separation hit him once more. He held the Sending Crystal close to his lips with one hand and began to shuffle absent-mindedly through the papers scattered on his desk with the other. He hoped that the movements would distract him from the ache in his chest. 

He rose from his seat, deciding that there was little use in staring down at his desk. Ever faithful, he kept the crystal close even as he walked. "Nolan." 

"You have been verbally lashing the poor Magister Pysanis since the sun went down three days ago." 

"My sincerest apologies, Inquisitor!" Dorian allowed familiar sarcasm to ooze from every word as he slipped down the familiar halls of House Pavus towards his quarters. "I know that hearing my rambling must sound an awful lot like nails on a chalkboards after a long day doing... whatever it is you're doing as of late." 

Nolan laughed and Dorian knew that the elf must have thrown his head back. Dorian could picture it as though his lover stood before him. One of the servants passing by him eyed the crystal wearily at the sound, but nodded sheepishly towards Dorian and continued on his way. Another pang of emptiness hit him, but Nolan's voice chased it away: "I am Inquisitor Nolan Lavellan! A very, very busy man, Magister Pavus. To insinuate that I am any less!" Nolan gasped in what the Magister had to assume was mock offense. Nolan continued to insist - in a rather loud and grandiose fashion - that he was absolutely far too busy to listen to any complaining, particularly when Dorian "could just come right back and be by my side, truly, or I could be there, honestly!" Dorian chuckled, opening his bedroom door and shutting it quietly behind him. 

"I'm afraid Tevinter has never been too kind to elves. Best to stay where you are for now." 

"I suppose it is." Nolan agreed with a ring of laughter in his voice, (Dorian was relieved that they were finally back to some sort of normalcy; two months ago, Nolan would have grown silent and sad at the suggestion,). "Jokes aside, no matter how busy I am, and no matter how much you may whine, there is never a sound that I love to hear more than your voice." 

His breath caught in his throat. "And for me, yours." He whispered, leaning against the doorway. They existed in comfortable silence for a moment, (just long enough for Dorian to settle on his bed,) before Dorian decided to enter more jubilant territory. "So, what have you been doing, amatus?" 

"I am currently traveling." Nolan admitted. "I have important Red Jenny business to attend to." 

"That seems an awful lot like an oxymoron.." Dorian relaxed back on luxurious pillows. He wondered where his lover was sleeping, and felt guilty for a moment. But when Nolan responded with a sleepy chuckle, Dorian felt assured that Nolan was - at the very least - comfortable. It was a small reassurance, but it was just enough. 

"This is very important, I'll have you know." 

"Oh?" Dorian shut his eyes. The image of Nolan lying next to him, stripped bare and flushed in the evening light, was as familiar as it was painful. But for a moment, Dorian allowed his imagination to run free. If Nolan could not be there, long auburn locks sprayed across Dorian's pillow as they faced one another and talked, then Dorian would have to fill the gaps himself. "Who are you chasing down now?" 

"The sort of thinks-they're-very-important type that needs to be knocked down a few pegs." The freedom in the elf's voice served as music to Dorian's ears. Even with the threat of world destruction at still very real and the power of the Inquisition pulled out from under him, Nolan seemed to be in the best spirits that he had been since long before Corypheus's defeat. "An old friend of mine sent in the request, so I'm seeing to it alone." 

"Alone?" This was new. Typically, Nolan found himself with a barrage of friends both new and old. Whether it was for the Inquisitor's safety or because Nolan found good company preferable to loneliness, Dorian's lover had yet to confide, but Nolan could typically be found in a group of fellow "friends." The development stirred anxiety in the pit of Dorian's stomach. He sat up and stared down at the glowing crystal, struggling to find the right words. "Is that wise?" 

Another ring of laughter. Dorian could not help but smile at the sound. "I hunted alone for most of my life before the Inquisition, Dorian." The reassurance was soothing, of course, but did little to quell Dorian's fears. "I've got the hang of these prosthetics that Sera keeps setting me up with, mostly. The most recent one was a dagger." 

"Oh, amatus..." The chuckle came out as a snort. Dorian covered his face with his free hand, the image of Nolan swinging his prosthetic wildly as he had with his daggers too amusing to ignore. 

"I will have you know I've only tripped over my feet once." Nolan admitted. Dorian only laughed harder. "Of course you don't believe me. I'll just have to show you. Perhaps when I finish this, we will meet somewhere in the middle. We'll steal just a day together. Two star-crossed lovers finding each other for a moment more." 

"Only a moment and nothing more." Dorian returned the dramatics. "Forever just short of eternity. One embrace away from the final, inevitable farewell." 

Nolan's voice was soft and his sudden, foreign words sweet: "Ar lath ma, vhenan. I hope to spend that last moment at your side, not days apart." 

"Now, now; sentimentality will get you nothing." And though he chastised Nolan, he returned the affections with a whisper: "I love you, as well." 

And again, there was a comfortable beat of silence. Dorian settled back into a more comfortable position, holding the crystal close to his face once more. 

"I don't want to let you go yet." Sleep weighed heavily on the end of Nolan's sentence. Dorian knew that the elf must have settled down, as well. "Continue your complaining! What was it that you said in front of the Magisterium that was so horrific?" 

Dorian dove right back into his story, and spoke to the Inquisitor until he knew that the elf was asleep. Only then, did Dorian change out of the day's clothes and settle in to sleep himself. He would have to discuss a leave of absence with Maeveris. Certainly, the Lucerni could survive a few days without him, couldn't it? 

That night he dreamed of stolen kisses in his nook at Skyhold's library and the flushed ears of a budding Inquisitor.


	3. Absences and Fondness, pt 2

Dorian wondered, (and understood how vain and potentially narcissistic it was to wonder,) if he was blessed by Andraste herself. The fantasy was a hilarious one: touched by the Herald who was touched by Andraste, receiving second-hand blessings from a lover that had already given him so much. It was a fanciful, entertaining story to tell himself, and it certainly kept him from laughing in the middle of the meeting when Magister Pysanis - known for dark, luxurious curls that could put the prettiest of maidens to shame, but with a protruding jaw and unflatteringly small nose that took away from the beauty of his hair - strolled in with a head so cleanly shaved that it put Solas's to shame. 

There was little for Dorian himself to do on that particular day: Maeveris headed the Lucerni's complaints, and Dorian found himself lucky enough to watch the blood mage slip far into his seat and glower at anyone that he caught staring. Dorian eventually fell under that gaze but did not shy away. He waved and mouthed the words: "A vast improvement!" 

If the man could breathe fire, Dorian would have burnt to ash. Another blessing of her Holiness, he mused. 

Pysanis was surprisingly quiet throughout the meeting and scurried away so quickly once it let out that no one could ask any further questions. Dorian threw himself into lobbying the Magisters for another investigation into corruption. With a loud voice silenced, he found more minds opened to listening to him. The productivity encouraged him enormously; by the time Dorian stepped back out onto the streets of Minrathous, the sun was setting Dorian felt as though he was taking several steps forward in his goals. Bidding his fellow Lucerni good night, he turned off towards House Pavus. There was still paperwork from the day before to be done, after all, and Dorian had to admit that he was itching to relay the day's events to Nolan. 

Auburn hair and pale skin passed in the his peripheral vision. Dorian assumed that his mind must have been playing tricks on him, bidding him to see that which he wanted most, for when he turned his head to follow the movement there was no sign of the Lavellan. It was not an unusual phenomenon: after spending so long together, Dorian told himself that it was only natural to think that he saw Nolan everywhere that he went. Many years of traveling side-by-side simply imprinted the image of the rogue passing by on his mind. 

But when it happened again, (a glimpse of long legs and magical, black ink tracing lines into scarred skin,) Dorian stopped short and turned completely around. Again, he was met with the bustling streets of a typical Minrathous evening, and while there were plenty of elves, (slaves, Dorian had to make the dissertation in his mind, as he knew that attempting to either abolish or - at the very least - lessen slavery was a large part of redeeming Tevinter, and he could no longer afford to turn a blind eye to it,) he could not find Nolan in the crowd. 

"Kaffas..." Dorian continued forward after another reluctant look into the crowd. He told himself that he was absolutely in need of the reprieve that he and Nolan had discussed the night before. "The signs of a longing heart." He made the joke privately, for himself, knowing that there was no one else around to truly appreciate it. 

The rest of the walk passed without incident. Dorian made his way past the large doors leading into his home and took a deep breath once the doors were closed behind him. He was ready to call out to one of the servants: to let them know that he was headed to his study and that he was not to be disturbed, but a knock at the door cut him short. 

Dorian raised an eyebrow and spun around. A servant scrambled to answer the door, but Dorian raised a hand to dismiss him. The Magister reached out and opened his own door, and nearly stumbled when he saw the figure standing before him. His hair had been cut so short that it reminded Dorian of his own hair when they'd first met, and fair skin burned ever-so-slightly under the Tevinter sun. His blue eyes regarded Dorian both with love and with reluctance, as though he had been caught sticking his hand in a cookie jar. 

"You look as though you've seen a ghost. Or a stranger. Which is entirely possible. The hair makes me almost unrecognizable." The elf spoke quickly: a nervous tick that Dorian knew him to have only when he was uncertain as to whether or not he was right in his course of action. "I know that we agreed on my staying out of Tevinter, but my business brought me here, and so I assumed that I should at least say hello. So..." - A dramatic bow, followed by an amicable wave - "hello." 

"And a hello to you." Dorian smirked, leaning against the doorway. "Have you any other friends in Tevinter? I wasn't aware." 

"That sounds an awful lot like an accusation. I don't think I'll answer." 

"Ah, so it's a no." Dorian folded his arms across his chest. "I don't remember requesting the help of Red Jenny. Why, I doubt I would be considered in the list of preferred clientele."

"Oh, so you're a nob?" He feigned ignorance. 

"And Pysanis?" Dorian pressed. "The sort that needs to be knocked down a few pegs?" 

"Can we have a serious conversation about priorities here? While you're making reforms, it should be illegal to own that many hair products." 

Dorian clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, affectionately scolding. "I can't change everything, amatus." 

"Oh, you would, if you could live without them yourself. I'm on to you, Magister Pavus." 

And Dorian decided that he would wait no more. He grabbed Nolan by the arm and pulled him into the house. Nolan managed to laugh and gasp simultaneously. Dorian, hands on either side of the Inquisitor, shut the door and pressed himself against Nolan. He seamlessly slipping his leg in between Nolan's and pressing a feverish kiss against familiar lips. Nolan returned the gesture with a quiet moan, almost immediately tangling his hand in Dorian's hair. And just as Dorian's heart began to race and his chest swelled with affection and wanting, Nolan broke away. 

"Hold on, it's not safe." 

Dorian raised an eyebrow, dropping his hands from the door to cup the sides of Nolan's face. "What isn't safe?" He pressed his forehead against Nolan's, simply taking in the familiar scent of dirt and leather and herbs that the elf emitted. 

"I've got a prosthetic on. I might accidentally cut you." Nolan looked down at the place where his left arm used to be, grinning from ear-to-ear. Many nights had been spent mourning the loss of that arm, be it through the crystal or in person. And yet Nolan stood before Dorian not complete, but whole once more. The light was back in his eyes. Without the weight of the Inquisition sitting on his shoulders, Nolan Lavellan was free and wild and beautiful. Dorian wondered if he could fall any more in love than he already had. 

Without being prompted further, Dorian reached for the straps of the prosthetic and started to unfasten it. "Then we'll have to take it off, won't we?" 

Nolan let him, watching affectionately as Dorian's hands worked the mechanism. "I suppose we will." 

As his fingers worked, Dorian pressed for answers to questions he did not want to directly ask: "I notice you are a full head of hair lighter, amatus." 

"There was no point in keeping it long." Nolan watched graceful fingers work. Dorian let his thumb unnecessarily graze bare skin. Goosebumps raised up and Nolan shivered underneath Dorian's touch. "I couldn't put it up in a bun on my own anymore." 

Dorian nodded solemnly. "Though I will miss it, I do like your hair this short. It suits you." 

"And I absolutely adore your hair this long." Nolan gave Dorian's hair an affectionate tug. "I never would have thought that I would live to see the day that Dorian Pavus had longer hair than I did." Love and sorrow and relief blended so brilliantly together in Nolan's voice that stilled every ounce of Dorian's being. Did not speak, he did not move, and he was relatively certain that he could not breathe. 

"Solas told me to enjoy what time I had left. Even if I only live to see his plan foiled, I…" Nolan let go of Dorian's hair and finished unhooking the prosthetic limb, allowing the dagger to fall to the floor as he did. He pressed a soft kiss just beneath Dorian's chin. Whatever he had intended to say, he dismissed it and shook his head with a chuckle. "I think you should take me to bed, vhenan." 

Dorian leaned down to pick up the prosthetic. "Awful forward, aren't we?" 

Nolan shrugged his shoulders. Though he was sunburned, his blush was still evident. Nolan looked down at their shoes for a moment before peering back up at Dorian as he chewed on the inside of his cheek. Dorian took Nolan's hand and led him towards the bedroom. "How can I say no when you look at me like that?" 

Servants whispered for days about the way that Nolan threw his head back and laughed and allowed Dorian to lead him without complaint. They gossiped for months about the fact that the lovers rarely left Lord Pavus's room for the duration of the visit. 

They would talk for years of the passionate kiss stolen by the front door three days later, illuminated only by the early morning moonlight. One would swear, (quietly, only when the master of the house was away,) that she saw Dorian wipe a tear away from his face as Inquisitor Nolan Lavellan disappeared into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish that the Inquisitor could stay in Minrathous with Dorian. Being so far away must be extremely painful for the both of them.


	4. The Burden of Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friendship and hurt are knotted too tightly together.

No matter the circumstance, no matter the threat, Nolan had always made it a point to defend the apostate elf that had become one of his closest friends during the fight against Corypheus.

Even in the face of a Qunari threat, with war beginning to wage around him once more and the mark destroying him from the inside out, he had managed to wonder where Solas was. He had turned to Josephine and Cullen and Divine Victoria herself and joked: "Honestly? I would have gone to Solas for his help on something of this magnitude. I don't..." He had allowed himself to trail off, falling back into the rhythm at hand, again attempting to forget the friend that had abandoned him. When the Viddasala threw Solas's name out into the air, claiming that he was behind the whole mess, Nolan had still turned back to his party with compassion in his eyes. The Iron Bull had been shocked, but not overwhelmingly so; Cassandra was cursing herself and the ground that she walked upon and the air that she breathed for whatever was to come next; but Dorian's face was the one that tore Nolan apart the most. His vhenan, (the only one to truly see Nolan mourn Solas,) looked overwhelmed with both sadness for his love and rage at the apostate. And still, despite these mingled emotions, Nolan had insisted that they were still friends. Even when Solas had confessed, Nolan felt compelled to listen and to pay attention to every word that his friend - that the Dread Wolf himself  - had to say. He took any bait and asked all of the questions that he could, despite his arm quite literally trying to kill him, because he had known Solas once. He had sought Solas's advice once. They had been friends once. To Nolan, they still were.

But there were moments - like the moment that he found himself seated in the back of a caravan, headed from Orlais to Kirkwall to finally lay eyes on everything that Varric had given him and to return the key to the city - that Nolan found it in his gentle heart to hate Solas. As he looked down at the empty space where the marked hand should have been and ached to flex and clench his hand, the betrayal swelled up in the pit of his stomach. Rage coiled around his intestines until he felt sick; sorrow built up in the back of his throat, so wide and so heavy that it could not be swallowed; his foot tapped anxiously against the wall across from him as he sprawled out on the floor, hoping that the feelings would fade.

It followed him, though. The sickness stuck to him as he paid the caravan driver and thanked him. The sorrow choked him when he entered the Viscount's Keep and was shooed away to come back later by Bran. Nolan had placed the key to the city in the man's hand with a heavy heart, informing him that it was far too big of a responsibility for the vagabond to handle once more. He must have won favor in doing so: Bran told Nolan to wait at the docks, and promised that Varric would meet him there once he was able.

Insecurity weighed him down, making him feel heavier and heavier with each step that he descended. "I know I'm not the most scholarly of men," he grumbled to himself, using his one real hand to adjust the cloak over his shoulder, "but I at least thought..." He shook his head. Nevermind what he thought. It was evident that he had been so blinded by Solas's willingness to help and by the companionship of another elf that was weary of a fledgling Inquisition that he had not seen anything.

"Inquisitor!" The voice was heavy, but friendly and familiar enough that Nolan turned his head immediately. Garrett Hawke approached him, first smiling and then furrowing his brow in confusion. "I thought that was you. I almost didn't recognize you without the..." He gestured to his own head, as though there was something there.

"The hair." Nolan smiled knowingly. "I just couldn't keep up with it after..." He raised his stump beneath the cloak. Hawke laughed, and Nolan could not help but to chuckle with him. He continued to walk, (where was he, now? He had never stepped foot into Kirkwall, and yet he was expected to get himself to the docks without a map?) but gestured for Hawke to follow him with a nod. "You know, Dorian had the same response. I think I look about the same."

"True. Your face hasn't changed much in the past few years…" Hawke paused. "Maybe it's the scowl."

Nolan chewed on the inside of his cheek. "Maybe."

"Are you all right?" There was genuine concern laced in Hawke's voice.

"Fine." Nolan lied, and it was an obvious lie, but if the Champion noticed it he decided to let it go. Nolan's stomach churned and he glanced all around him, impressed with the life that the city held. "I only heard stories of what happened here." He admitted. "I expected it to be darker, and in more disarray considering. But Varric has done well. You've all done well."

Hawke swelled with what Nolan assumed was pride at the praise towards his friend. "He has. He doesn't think he's suited for it, but he's done a damn good job." Nolan nodded, looking around once more. As if he sensed that the Inquisitor was distracted by the knots in his stomach, Hawke shouldered him and pointed one way. "The Hanged Man is over there, if you'd like a drink and company?"

"I have to get to the docks, actually. But I might take you up on that offer later."

Hawke pointed the way and they traded fair-wells. And while Nolan knew that Varric must have told stories, the Inquisitor found himself completely anonymous in the bustling town. He was neither Inquisitor nor Herald: he felt as though he could simply be a Dalish elf once more, slipping through the streets against his Keeper's wishes and looking for anything that caught his fancy. And as he passed swarms of children and men and women alike he felt the knot tear at him, threatening to spill free onto the ground and destroy him in the middle of the market. 

Nolan found himself a spot on the edge of the dock, out of the way enough that no one noticed him, and sat and stared down at the water below. 

_"You don't need to destroy this world."_ His own words rang out in his mind as a fish hesitated to swim beneath his feet. _"I'll prove it to you."_

Solas's expression had been unreadable in the moment. _"I would treasure the chance to be wrong once again, my friend. Take my hand."_ What was left of Nolan's arm reached out as he remembered the words. He could almost feel the strain of energy before he could no longer feel anything. And as Nolan noticed the fish braving a swim beneath his foot, he realized that he believed the apology that followed those words.

_"Live well,"_ Nolan could still see the intensity in Solas's gaze: truly, for a moment, Nolan had believed that Solas meant it when he referred to Nolan as his friend. And even as Solas turned away and took the essence of his arm with him, Nolan knew Solas to be genuine, _"while time remains."_

There was not a day that passed where the Inquisitor did not consider those words and struggle to live by them. Distracting himself by becoming a Jenny did the job well enough: he found himself playing pranks that brought him joy. He could speak to Dorian whenever he wished, truly, and found himself in Tevinter aiding him more often than he had originally anticipated. He was making time to help whoever reached out to him. If he was to survive without an arm and wait for news of Solas's first move towards ending the world, he was doing a relatively good job of making the best of it. Everyone was.

And Nolan found himself on the reverse side of the betrayal: sickness lifted from his stomach and settled in his chest, leaving an empty hole where it sat. Rage dissipated into nothingness. Sorrow left his throat numb. Though everything had been a lie, and though Corypheus only found power through Solas's own hand, and though Nolan had spent the better part of several years trying to save a world that shunned his people, he felt empathy for Solas's pain.

He almost hated himself for allowing the burden of the Fen'Harel's pain to fall upon his shoulders. It was ludicrous that he should feel tears stinging the back of his eyes for a man who would destroy the world. Before he could wallow in self-pity, footsteps that he recognized came up behind him.

"Well, look who it is!" Varric greeted him with a chuckle, sitting down next to him, "You finally decided to stop in Kirkwall!"

"Figured it was about time." Nolan blinked back the potential shame and looked up at the dwarf. Seeing Varric's broad smile forced Nolan to grin. "I should have done it sooner. It feels good to see the good that you've done here."

"Meh." Varric shrugged off the praise, both proud of work and uncomfortable with it all at once. "It's a work in progress. So, I'm sure you've been running around trying to find everyone. Give me the details! How's Buttercup? You enjoying yourself?"

Nolan nodded. "Being a friend has been just the medicine I've needed. Did you know I lost an arm? I have so many attachments to tack on to my stump, I hadn't even noticed yet."

"I wouldn't have guessed." Varric snickered. "What brought you here?"

"You needed to be knocked down a peg, apparently. There's a tack in your shoe." Nolan teased. Varric shook his head and Nolan gave him the truth: "I needed to return the key to the city."

Varric feigned an offended gasp. "Returning a gift! How ungrateful; what would Ruffles say?" He teased.

"That you would never break ties with me over something so petty." Nolan shouldered Varric playfully. "Something about having total control over all of the fishing nets here in Kirkwall made me a little… uneasy."

"Aw, come on!" Varric smacked Nolan on the back. "You? Shy away from power? I'd think you'd take it in stride!"

Nolan rolled his eyes. "I've read 'All This Shit is Weird.' You know me better than that. What was it you said?" Nolan looked up at the sky. "I think it was, 'They handed him a sword larger than himself, and he was so shocked that he almost let its weight crush him,' wasn't it?"

They both laughed. Conversation dwindled and the duo stared out at the water long enough for Nolan to remember his confliction. And just as he was about to excuse himself, Varric began again: "All right, I have to ask." Varric turned to face Nolan, so Nolan returned the gesture. "How're you holding up, Inquisitor?"

Nolan could feel all of the tension in his chest release when Varric asked. Nolan found himself torn between a sob and a laugh. He chose to laugh, trying to ignore his own distress. "Can I be frank for a moment, Varric?"

"Sure!" Varric raised an eyebrow.

"Could you call me Nolan?" The request felt ungrateful to ask. "We're friends, and I just… the title depresses me."

Varric was taken aback for a moment. He regarded Nolan carefully; Nolan could practically feel the dwarf scrutinizing and analyzing every aspect of his expression. Varric broke out into a grin and shook his head. "No can do." Nolan knew that his smile faltered. Varric turned back out to the bay and continued: "We're friends. If I can't call you Inquisitor anymore, we'll have to think of another nickname."

Relief bubbled up in the form of a chuckle. "Truly?"

"Sh, I'm thinking." Varric held up a finger. Nolan waited patiently. It was not a long wait: Varric turned back to Nolan within seconds, wearing solemnity that was purely ironic in nature. "It's got to be Pup."

Nolan guffawed. "Pup?"

"Like a Mabari! Loyal and easy to get along with, but fierce when you need to be." Varric nodded, proud of himself. "From Inquisitor to Pup. How does it feel?"

The bitterness reared its ugly head. "As long as I'm not a wolf pup, it's fine." Realizing that the remark was unnecessarily hostile, Nolan immediately apologized: "I'm sorry, I don't know what got into me, I…" He trailed off as Varric's smile melted into a frown.

"The shit with Chuckles has still got you down." It wasn't a question, it was a statement. "I know how close you guys were."

Nolan gnawed on the inside of his cheek, considering his answer. "The worst part about this," he began slowly, knowing that his secrets were safe with Varric, "is that I feel as though we still… we still are. We talked before he took the anchor, and it was… it was as though he'd never left. He was giving me advice on how to move forward, knowing that he has full intentions of destroying us all. And to hear what I heard, to learn what I have learned…" Nolan ran his hand through his hair. "I'm torn between anger and empathy and fondness and hatred."

"There're two sides to every coin, Pup." The nickname seemed to be in effect immediately. "You're still flipping for the right answers. You'll get them eventually."

"Mabari's aren't the smartest animals in Thedas." Nolan grumbled.

Varric stood. Nolan looked up at Varric. It was quite the romantic picture of the Viscount: the setting sun caught his grin brilliantly, and from the angle, Varric looked ten feet tall. Nolan wished that he was a painter. If he had been, he would have caught that moment and hung it in the Viscount's Keep to commemorate the dwarf in a way that only a friend could. But the words that followed the beautiful sight were so typical of him: "Don't tell Hawke that."

It did not erase the turmoil in Nolan's heart. But Nolan felt energized as he pushed himself to his feet and asked Varric to show him around the city that he loved so much. He met some of the Champion's old friends, (finding comfort in Merrill's presence, particularly,) and spent a night in the home that Varric had given him. As he settled into a warm bed for the first time in an eternity, his sending crystal lit and emitted Dorian's comforting voice. And once Dorian had relayed the day's successes and failures, Nolan boasted about his new nickname and about his humble abode and his plans to find the Chargers and perhaps join them on a mission or two.

Solas told him to live well. Nolan had never failed to take his advice before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I played Inquisition as though three things were true: Nolan befriended all of his inner circle/advisers, he loved Dorian fiercely and loyally, and he trusted Solas blindly.
> 
> Thank you for reading.


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